Phineas all but slams the door behind himself. He stalks away from the chamber where men and women - mostly men - more important than he will ever be are debating the future of their entire civilization. He ignores the rushed footsteps.

"This is most indecorous&#33;"

Phineas turns on a heel and the orderly skids to a stop, mere inches from him. "Most indecorous, huh?" Phineas reaches out and adjusts the man's collar, which has inverted itself in an ever-so-annoying fashion. "I'll tell you what's 'indecorous' there, Chauncey." He holds up his binder of research in between them. "It's when people call you in to testify as an expert and they don't even wanna hear it. They've already made up their damned minds." He drops the binder on the ground and turns halfway. Phineas pauses and holds up a finger as the orderly bends down to scoop it up. "I tell you what: hang onto that, kid. Read some of it. Maybe if I can't save a whole damned civilization tonight, I can at least save someone." With that, the professor turns and walks away, and the orderly is uncharacteristically inclined to stick up for himself. "My name's not Chauncey, sir."

"Then stop acting like such a Chauncey," the older man throws back over his shoulder. With that, he turns a corner and there's no bringing him back. His footfalls echo across the old stone floors and down the seemingly endless hallway, towards the ornate, vaulted ceiling with its periodic chandeliers and beyond. When they finally disappear, the orderly - his name is Alfred - is left clutching the binder and staring absently out one of the ancient, vaulted windows. A flash of lightning illuminates the roiling sea below, and he takes a step back. "My, it's a bad one. Oh dear, oh dear," he murmurs to himself. Then he retreats through the heavy, oaken double doors and takes his place at the security station, carefully setting the binder upon his lap.

<hr />

Lightstation No. 5, Falmouth Sector, The Wall

Marigold sits up. The radio's going funny. Either that, or they're getting a message. She takes her feet off of the desk and glances around guiltily. Only me. But of course it's only me. There's nobody else they could pay to do this. She plays with the settings for a couple more minutes, but it isn't getting any better. It's the storm. Bloody thing. Nothing's getting through that. Rain rattles the lighthouse windows. The ocean itself seems to rumble as great, moving peaks, black and angry, rise and fall as far as the eye can see. Sheets of rain plaster the glass. For a moment, Marigold considers ducking her duty - It's hell out there - but this is a bad, bad storm to be out in, and that could be a distress call. Got to raise the damned antenna. Grudging but quick, she slips into her galoshes, throws on her rain jacket, and flips the hood up.

The wind hits her like a body blow and she has to clutch the railing to stay upright. The rain pelts her face and she uses her free hand to shield her eyes. No amount of of money is worth this. No amount at all&#33; Hurriedly, she makes it over to the antenna and turns the little wheel that cranks it up. It creaks, groans, and slowly rises into the sky. As Marigold glances up, a terrific sheet of lightning tears open the heavens, illuminating the roiling peaks and valleys below. Then, like a frightened animal, she scampers back inside, struggling with the latch for a moment. Blessed warm, safe place. Her hair is plastered to her face and there is a growing puddle forming around her. The radio buzzes. Right&#33; she remembers, That thing&#33; She rushes, over, picks up the headset, and listens.

Static. She keeps listening. "...MV Charles S. ...." She adjusts the gain a bit. "We are down by the head. Requesting immedi... Last known coordinates..." Shit, shit. Last known coordinates?...come ON&#33; This is bad. She should call search and rescue. She should call the sector supervisor. This is really bad. Then the signal returns. "There is some...THING...in the water. It..." There is a sound that stabs Marigold with a pang of primal fear. It wails and rumbles at the same time, its frequency the lowest she has ever heard, and yet the highest, even through the headphones. The line turns to static. It takes her a moment to recover. "Unidentified ship, this is lightstation five, Falmouth Sector. You're breaking up. I repeat, you are breaking up. We did not receive all of your information. What are your last known coordinates?&#33;"

Static. Static and sounds. Horrible sounds that Marigold knows, right then, that she will never be able to forget.

<hr />

Somewhere in the Savage Lands

The sun hangs low on the horizon, sitting upon the calm, clear sea like an oversized grapefruit. Seagulls bleat and wheel overhead, coasting on the light breeze. Waves trace lines in the sand, rising and falling with an easy, natural rhythm perfected over millennia. A lone sandcastle stands ready, shored up by some thoughtful child, steeling itself for a battle against the tide.

A heavy boot smashes it. There is no recovering from such a setback. Dozens, then hundreds more smash flat what remains. An army marches down the coast. Sea lions bark angrily in protest, before plunging into the water and watching from the safety that it has always brought them. Eventually, the last soldiers in the column disappear into the distance, their path carrying them away from the water, inland towards the mountains, and perhaps the plains that lie beyond.

<hr />

The story begins...

Last edited by The Monsterworks on Wed Oct 12, 2016 7:31 pm, edited 1 time in total.

Tarein opens her eyes. This is not home, she realizes immediately. It is not her bed, with its soft straw mattress. The familiar presence of her father is nowhere nearby. Instead, there is darkness - the purest blackness that she can think of. The ground is hard - like stone, but too smooth to be stone, and damp. There is a very subtle, but revolting smell in the air, and it is damp, almost like it is by the sea. Tarein can see nothing and hear nothing in this strange place. What on Earth should she do?

<hr />

Jack Smith (Savage Lands)

It is that familiar time of day...or is it night?... when the sun has just left the sky and the chirping of crickets fills the tall grass. Bonfires flicker to life all around the camp, and soon, there are black silhouettes moving, and talking, and dancing in front of them. These people have not had it easy, but they make the best of things. Laughter, singing, and conversation rises from these little spots of light and warmth, but Jack Smith, or so the others call him, for he is a man without words, does not join them. The wagons and the trucks are already packed, most of the shanties disassembled, and only tents and bonfires remain. But then, a trio of things catches Jack's attention all at once: first, is the notion that he should really pack his things up too, few as they are. Second, he could swear that he heard someone around one of the nearer fires mention his name. Finally, he catches a glint of light - artificial light - on the horizon by a stand of trees, down in the direction of the sea.

<hr />

Crazy Zane (The Scaffolds at The Wall)

This is not so much a storm as a full on hurricane. The waves boil up and crash over the battered steel lattice of the scaffolds. Small, rickety houses on stilts hunker together in intimate clusters, resilient - in a manner of speaking - against the tempest. The people around them are poor and desperate, but mostly, they're sane. Zane isn't.

He and the other crazies, most of whom have been eating Bios for lack of anything else, have been effectively banished from the little centres of light and warmth. Technically, there are guards to keep them out, but Zane has cracked their heads before and they made cool sounds. He could do it again.

Maybe he should, but then he sights Murderous Maud and Stabby the Clown going at it dangerously close to the water's edge.

<hr />

Ulysses Walk (The Meancat at The Wall)

There might be a storm outside, but Ulysses has taken the dance floor by storm inside. The beat, that beat pumps through him like nothing else can. It's electrifying. He doesn't move in response to it. He's like a puppet on strings, carrying out the will of the music.

People form a circle around him, some of them clapping, others just watching. The DJ shouts over the music. Ulysses hates that, but right now, he's too engrossed to care. He needs to get the name of this mix tomorrow, if there is a tomorrow. This party was called 'Dance at the End of The World', after all. There's supposed to be a big vote in congress today, but Ulysses gives no fucks about politics. He can feel the beat changing. He transitions smoothly with it, sinking right into a splits and then springing back up with rubberlike athleticism.

Then, he notices something new. The circle parts. People start clapping in rhythm. A flashy, handsome guy who - by the look of him - can only be Italian sweeps into the circle, wearing a matching white suit with flaring bellbottoms. His fair is slicked back, and his moves... Ulysses can appreciate them. "Dance off&#33;" people shout. "Dance, dance, dance&#33;" they call. "Dance battle&#33;"

Ulysses considers for a moment whether to take up the challenge.

<hr />

Adahy (The Savage Lands)

Adahy peers through his binoculars. They are a treasured gift that he earned by helping his last visitor learn how to set traps.

The new village is close - closer than he wants it to be. He doesn't automatically dislike people. In fact, he's been known to be quite a talker under the right circumstances. It's just that people bring problems. You can't trust them, and for every bit of good they do, they cause infinitely more trouble.

People are walking back and forth, setting up now as opposed to unloading. It's been nearly a week. On the one hand, he feels a pang of sadness for these people without an anchor, without an identity. On the other, they make his life harder. He tucks his binoculars away for now. It's dusk, when most of the animals come out to drink. Perhaps he should head out to check his traps. And yet, he has not slept well for the past few nights, and he has stores enough to leave that job until the morning. For a moment, Adahy ponders his next course of action.

<hr />

Larry Walker (New Chicago, the Colonies)

It's getting close to sunset, and Larry's waiting around by the docks, ready for the right kind of brave and stupid drunks, when he notices something: the water is high. Much higher than it should be. Ain't that funny? Seagulls circle lazily over the Lake Michigan shoreline, feeding more on the garbage of New Chicago than on what they should be eating. They don't seem to notice anything. Neither do the other people. They flutter in and out of bars and it calls to mind a card trick that Larry hasn't tried in awhile. But this is weird. It's infuriating, really. How can none of them see that the water is a good ten feet higher than it should be. The waves are washing over the docks. What the hell?&#33;

Larry turns back to the ocean. This is serious stuff. He stands there, entranced by the waves, watching them grow larger and larger. They rise up, tens of feet tall, and he takes a few cautious steps back. There's no wind. Man, this is surreal. For all of their fury, though, they just bluff, tumbling down harmlessly before they can reach him or really anyone. Then he knows what this is: A dream. This same dream again. Goddammit.

He opens his eyes and he's back in the apartment that he shares with Russel, Jane, and Giacomo. He rolls out of bed and the mattress creaks in protest. The sun is setting outside.

Jane almost spits out her coffee. "Well that's just fuckin' dumb," she opines, but she's being an idiot. Russel waves her off and Larry can already see what this all means. He might need that coffee after all. He pours himself a cup really quickly.

"So, old buddy..." Russel's gonna give him the sell. He takes a sip of coffee to cover his expression. To be perfectly honest, he doesn't even like the taste of it, though if you ask most people, they'll agree that he loves it.

"There's a lot of money to be made moving these schmucks back and forth, and we need a guy who can really make things happen at The Wall. Figured I'd give you first crack at it, if you think you're up for the job."

<hr />

Molly Rivers (Morgan Wright University at The Wall)

"Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear." For her post-doc, Molly agreed to take this space for all of the room it would afford her various projects. That it was in the 'splash zone', where the waves reach during storms and known to be slightly leaky was of little concern. She assured herself that she would waterproof it. Then inspiration struck, and one simply cannot deny inspiration. One project after another, and some uncharacteristic forgetfulness and now this... Oh dear.

Yet, Molly's always been good at trouble spotting and even better at troubleshooting. Quickly and efficiently, she's been finding and plugging the various leaks with a special fast-drying epoxy that she whipped up herself. The issue is that there is only one of her - she'll find a way to fix that someday - and there are oh so many blasted leaks. She stops to take a breather, hair a complete mess and sweat beading on her brow. It really is unholy rough outside. At least she's gotten any sensitive electronics away from the windows.

She's about to get back to plugging when she hears footsteps coming down the hall over the rattling of the windows, and crashing of the waves. Having no time to waste, Molly heads straight for the door and opens it. On the other side is a surprised-looking Ph.D. student who she knows she's seen before. He blinks. She blinks. Fabio. Right, that was his name. He's in biology and she repaired one of the towable sonar bouys he uses to locate fish schools or what-have-you. He stammers for a moment. Molly is equally socially inept, but he recovers first.

"Hey, a couple of other grads and I were thinking of heading down to the Meancat for some drinks, 'specially with the big decision coming down tomorrow. Might be out last chance to all see each other as a group before this place goes crazy. We might talk about a theory ol' Marlowe has too. Got him in some hot water, it did." He looks at her expectantly, the question hanging between them: do you wanna come along?

<hr />

Kayla Flanagan (The Savage Lands)

"And ever since then, they've said that if you go to Northram's Point on a new moon and say his name three times, Old Ned will appear behind you, still holding that huge fish hook in his hands." Kayla's mother makes

The children squeal with a mixture of delight and terror, and Kayla can't help but smile a bit. It's a story she's heard a dozen times at least, that she's told a dozen times too, but sometimes it's the reactions that make the story more than the words themselves.

"Now you guys wait here a minute," her mom cautions, "I'm going to be right back with some more wood for the fire." She grips her wheels and starts to push herself away. Kayla waits until she's gone. Now to tell a story of her own&#33; But one of the children interrupts. "Kayla&#33;" he says, tugging on her sleeve, "I saw Old Ned before."

"Oh really?" Children, Kayla thinks, ironically aware that most people still see her as a child.

"Yu-huh," the boy insists, "Up North, near the finger lakes. Old Ned was there. He never said a word, though."

"Well, Old Ned is from out East around Boston," Kayla assures him, "so there's no way that could've been him."

The boy looks disappointed, and Kayla can see her mother coming back, having loaded up her lap like a cart with firewood. She decides to stay only long enough to help with the fire. Then she takes off, leaving her mom with a halfhearted reassurance that she'll be back tonight. Someone has to feed the family, mum.

It's lurching towards nine o'clock when she reaches the edge of the savages' camp. For some reason, the savages and colonists live separately, even though they have business together all of the time. She knows most people's schedule by now, and Emma has helped her with the rest. The cannery by the riverside clocktower always starts loading a truck around this time. She hasn't dared to hit it before - the guards have guns - but Emma has guaranteed a distraction. Still, she's not completely sure.

Emma Ashevak (Savage Lands)

Emma adjusts her skirt. It's nice and short, just the way that it needs to be. Covers the pistol, too. She can see that Ronnie has his knife and he looks like a legitimate thug. Having actually known him for a few weeks, she almost laughs. He catches it and immediately goes into character. "Whatchu lookin' at bitch?"

"Aww fuck off, Ronnie."

"You talkin' ish? Say it again, I dare you&#33;"

"Oh I couldn't possibly." The two of them grin at each other, but once Emma checks her watch, it's all business. Together, they slip out of the small, run down room that they and a few other strays share, and into the street. Careful to keep enough distance between them that other people don't guess that they know each other, they head down towards the cannery, taking a shortcut through the bar district as they go.

Just as Emma approaches the back door of the Fightin' Fiddler, a woman bursts into the alleyway, followed by two very drunk men. They grab at her. "Leave me alone&#33;" she shouts. One of them makes a drunken pouty face and then keeps up his pursuit. The other ignores her. "I said get the fuck away from me." Emma knows what's about to happen. She has narrowly avoided it herself, but Kayla's life could depend on her getting to the cannery and providing a distraction, and the kid could be useful in the future. It sure would be nice to have a real partner-in-crime too, like, a long term one. Dammit. Emma hesitates. She doesn't know what to do.

<hr />

Tibrus Siblings (New St. Louis, The Colonies/The Savage Lands)

Sometimes they find the contracts. Sometimes, there's a middleman. It's rare that the contracts find them. This one's on a slip of paper. Mychal, perceptive as he is, finds it in the left pocket of one of his pairs of pants upon retrieving his laundry from the laundromat. He walks into the living room of the small apartment that the siblings have been renting on the down low, holding the paper above his head.

Like two extensions of a single organism, Mathias and Maria turn to look at him. He plants the paper, unfolded, on the table.

Zane debates getting a fire going, then realizes that's a dumb idea in the rain. He could go back to his lean-to, but the flapping sound the cloth he's been using for a wall on one end was making him angry. he doesn't want to get angry at his house. he enjoys the rain beating down on his head, calming him somewhat. his pants are already soaked through, and he's not wearing much else, so he supposes it's a bit of a wash at this point (badum-tiss) to bother with trying to warm himself up.

Maud and the clown fighting again. Zane never did like clowns. People choose to dress as clowns. why would they choose that. why would Stabby choose that? he knows people don't like clowns. he knows he inspires terror. how dare he.

Just as Zane is about to connect, a massive wave rears up over The Wash and buffets the three crazies standing there. Stabby stumbles and Zane's murderous swing only grazes him. It's still enough to send the out-of-work clown to the ground, and he howls in pain, a chunk of his scalp literally gone.

Tarein finds a sense of inner peace and begins approaching this as a problem to be solved. She finds that the room is extremely large and empty. It takes her almost ten minutes to find a wall. There is something making a subtle, constant hissing sound to what has to be her left. Exactly where, she doesn't know. She considers whether it might be a good idea to head in that direction or if it's best avoided.

Last edited by The Monsterworks on Wed Oct 12, 2016 8:14 pm, edited 1 time in total.

Mother-fucking-nature. What a fickle friend she is. Sometimes helping Zane, and sometimes hurting him. Zane barely acknowledges Maud's kiss, angry as he is at that wave, and that clown. The clown's getting up. Zane swings again, and the clown mostly shoves the bar away before it can hit him with full force. He comes up with a long, wicked-looking knife and rushes Zane.

Maud still has unfinished business with Stabby, though, and she slips right between them, beneath Zane's third wild swing and hamstrings the clown with a penknife. Zane's bar, which was supposed to connect with Stabby's ribs, connects with his head instead as he falls. There's a nasty, satisfying sound, and the clown collapses in a heap, still somehow breathing.

Then, there are shouts and flashlights. There are people coming towards Zane and Maud. Zane has to choose a course of action: finish Stabby off, escape while he can, or attack the newcomers?

Last edited by The Monsterworks on Wed Oct 12, 2016 11:03 pm, edited 1 time in total.

if there's one thing Zane's learned over the years, it's that every head makes a slightly different noise when it's smashed open. Stabby's made one that sounded like a watermelon having a disagreement with a tree falling on it.

his concentration breaks, and he notices the commotion, and a somewhat friendly Maud for the first time. "'be a good idea to run?"

Mathias - "would you like to fight for the right? hehe." Mychal looks down. "so what I was going to say is that I will go down to the front counter and figure out what room this...uh... Rochambeau fella is in. third floor, I know, but with 4 rooms to a floor, rather have more than a 25% chance with it. see&#33; I can do the maths of the smart people. anyways, ill radio up to you guys, let you know which room. Then you two go to the first floor equivalent of that room, sweet talk whoever is in there into leaving for whatever reason, and Mychal, you set up your stuff like you usually do, farther half of the room with a force trigger on the first half. Maria, you go up to the second floor and do the talking thing again, but be wary that this might be a trap. have one of your pistols ready to shoot through the floor to trigger the explosive that Mychal placed. If you get the people out, wait for Mychal to get there before you enter. again, traps. Mychal, you do you. same thing as the first floor.do you have enough equipment?" Mychal scoffs and nods in approval. "Once that trap is set, Maria, you come back down to the waiting area and watch for any suspicious activity. radio to either of us if there is any. Mychal, you go and watch our room because of reasons. while all that is happening. I will go to the room, put on something that isn't this, and then go negotiate with this guy. all good?"

Maria - "yea, sounds solid, just like the last dozen times we have done this. why do you have to explain it to us each time?"

Mathias - "for consistency. have we ever failed when I explain the plan?"

Mychal - "well that one time we killed that lad-"

Mathias - "but that was part of the plan&#33; she got in the way, so we had to make sure she wouldn't get in the way again."

Maria - "alright. lets do this&#33;"

Mathias - "oh. give me the paper so I can remember his name. we don't want it to turn out like last time&#33;"

"Yesyesyes," says Maud, giggling with glee. She kicks Stabby in the head one more time, just to make sure.

"Put your hands where we can see 'em&#33;" Shouts somebody with a bullhorn. It's not very audible over the lashing wind and rain. They sound like cops. How in god's name are they out here?

"And shove 'em where the sun don't shine" Maud shouts back. She starts running and Zane doesn't need to think twice...probably not even once. Zane doesn't think very often. Then, out of nowhere, she jumps right over the edge of the scaffold and into the sea.

That's a level of crazy that not even Zane's sure he wants to follow. Then, he glances down. There's a ventilation shaft and the top is open. That's how she seems to pop up everywhere&#33; Zane's not very fast, and he probably can't outrun the police forever, but that looks really risky. Should he jump down that shaft?

Mychal is just in the process of sliding the paper over to his brother when Maria stops him. She looks at it and furrows her brow. "Wait a sec...La Rochambeau. Isn't that a place?"

Mychal looks at the paper again. He pauses and thinks. "I wish we'd had a bit more time to get acquainted with this place."

"I'm like, 99 percent sure it's a place," Maria repeats.

"Well, guess who's not so bright after all," Mathias admits. "It's that big inn with the bar down at Church and Market Square."

"So...same plan?" Mychal asks, quirking an eyebrow.

The three of them glance at each other.

Mathias nods. "Same plan, but we get to the third floor and ask for Rex."

The three of them know what to do. They prepare their gear, put it in nondescript bags so that they look like run of the mill travelers, and head out, one by one, into the night.

La Rochambeau is a massive, rambling structure five stories high, a mix of wild western saloon and art-deco speakeasy. Its lights blaze into the night. Mychal and Maria arrive first, and insert themselves into the flow of the bar. Mathias arrives eight minutes later, and saunters up to the reception desk. "Hey, I'm looking for a friend of mine. Name's Rex. I remember him saying something about the third floor?"

The little sardine of a man at the reception counter raises an eyebrow. "Rex, n'est ce pas?"

"Um yeah." For a moment, he wishes that he had Mychal's gift for languages.

The smallish man shakes his head, utterly unhelpful, and goes about organizing some papers. "I am sorree, monsieur, but we ave nobodee by zat name over ere right now."

Well, shit. Is he holding out or does he not know? Checking through all of the rooms on the third floor would not only take awhile, it'd be incredibly suspicious. Mathais ponders his next course of action.

There is a moment of sheer, joyful terror, where Zane is falling through the air in the middle of a hurricane at night, trying to hit a small target as police chase him down.

He has just a split second to realize that he's going to miss, but another whopper of a wave rears up and smacks into him, altering his course and sending him barrelling into the tube. She takes, but she gives. Thanks, bitch. Zane ends up in the tube, along with a whole lot of seawater, but he can still breathe and it swooshes on past him after a couple of seconds.

"Fuck&#33;" He can hear somebody shouting, "He's gone down the tube&#33;"

"Don't worry,"calls another voice, "I know..." The rest is lost as he slides too far away. Up ahead, Maud's maniacal laughter echoes through the ventilation shafts. This is great. Zane's having fun. Then there's a little yelp, and a hasty "Watch out, it.."

Splits.

Zane plows headlong into the split, his greater weight giving him significantly more momentum than Maud. Goddammit, it hurts. Slowly, painfully, he squirms away from the divide. He has two options: left, or right?

I hear someone say my name. Well... the name they gave me, anyway. Names are hard to get across by waving your arms around. Can't say I blame 'em for giving me a new one. I look around slowly, trying to find determine who it was, but before that happens, something else catches my eye: something over the horizon. A light? The moon, maybe? No... it's definitely not natural. Or constant. Little glints every now and again. Maybe one of them knows what it is.

I get up and walk slowly into the crowd, keeping an eye on the light as I do.

Mathias - holds down the button of the radio, but keeps it in his pocket out of sight. in a slightly louder voice, "uh but he is here. he told me he was going to be here. maybe I got the floor mixed up. see this piece of paper?" pulls out paper and slides it onto the desk, but not letting go of it. lets go of the radio so he has a free hand. "I really need to speak to this guy. like, today."

if he still doesn't know, ask to see the list of people staying here tonight.